Azaliyah’s face went still in the dangerous way storms do before they break. She stepped forward until she stood just ahead of Misha, shoulders squared, violet light humming over her skin.
“I’m eighteen years old,” she said, voice sharp enough to cut across the whole courtyard. “Eighteen. So where the hell was all this concern for balance the past several years while I was standing right there in Urella?” Her eyes locked onto Varos, unblinking now. “Where was this urgency when I was old enough to know I was being ignored, old enough to know nobody gave a s**t whether I learned anything, old enough to know I was only acknowledged when someone needed somebody to blame?”
Silence pressed in from every side.
She laughed once, bitter and ugly.
“You didn’t care about balance then. You didn’t
